Rules of the Game

We hibernate
between blankets and tuques and books—
a rebellion against weight. 

You tell of the twitch of my left butt cheek
at the dinner table—too obvious. 

We walk on ice without crampons
and float in stories of sea-journeys 
and arctic landscapes.

The fireplace kindled with crosswords,
faces lit up by Jean Renoir and late-night pie. 

When I hold your eyes, you duck
into my armpit and whisper 
rhubarb rumours. 

We don’t need much: a few words
and a pink sky at night. 

We are each other’s business, finally. 

Nothing photogenic in these bisous—
our brief parting a verbose sunset. 

Jérémi Doucet

Jérémi Doucet is an emerging fiction writer and poet. His writing has appeared in CV2, Gone Lawn, and several anthologies. He currently lives in Vancouver.